


Inside and Out

by BlueNeutrino



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s12e20 Twigs and Twine and Tasha Banes, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 10:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11034303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNeutrino/pseuds/BlueNeutrino
Summary: The shifter he's torturing has his face. Of course, that won't stop Ketch. In fact, he thinks he rather enjoys it.Tag to 12x20.





	Inside and Out

Ketch has made a pincushion of the shifter before he’s done. There’s spikes driven through all of its upper torso; sticking out at odd angles, embedded in ribs, straight through nerves… Nothing vital though. He’s smarter than that.

There’s only one silver spike left by the time Ketch abandons the rack that held them and turns to the instruments on the table beside it instead. He selects a scalpel and leans in close to the shifter, eyes glinting dangerously. His teeth are bared in a grin.

A hand tangles in the shifter’s hair, wrenching its head back as the scalpel scrapes down its throat and the point pricks just above its clavicle. The shifter struggles, moans, and Ketch feels the ripple in its muscles. Muscles that look just like his.

“Oh no, don’t change,” he says softly. “I’m curious.”

He pushes the scalpel in and slices.

The shifter howls, skin severing all the way down its chest as Ketch drags the silver blade to the base of its ribs and then discards the instrument in favor of his hand. He pushes skin back, exposing muscles and ribs as he sees just how deep he cut. Hot blood spills over his skin.

He’s fascinated. The shifter knows his DNA: has enough to make a perfect carbon copy of him, and there’s a morbid curiosity as to what his own insides look like. He reaches for the final spike and then uses the point to probe deeper, testing the sponginess of a rapidly heaving lung.

The shifter coughs, a hacking bark turning to a bitter laugh. “That’s right,” it taunts, southern drawl a jarring contrast to its otherwise perfect mimicry. Hate filled eyes peer down at him. “I’m you: inside and out.”

Ketch smirks. “Oh, but here’s an inaccuracy.” He moves the point of the spike to rest against the quivering mass of a pounding heart. “I don’t have one.”

Ketch drives the spike home.


End file.
